


Temptation, Incarnate

by MarisFerasi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Claiming, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Jealousy, M/M, Posessive Aziraphale, Ridiculous, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28101018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarisFerasi/pseuds/MarisFerasi
Summary: Seeing the appreciative, flirtatious look Burbage gives Crowley (and the cheeky smile in return) lights a possessive fire in one aloof principality.Or:Aziraphale goes to Crowley’s rooms after their job trade in the Globe and reminds him to whom he belongs.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Richard Burbage/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	Temptation, Incarnate

"And who is your-- friend?" the young actor asks cheekily, tipping his chin at Crowley’s entire fashionable, handsome, visibly wealthy person.

Aziraphale flusters and steps away, reeling predictably. "Oh he's not my friend-" he goes on, watching with mounting jealousy the plume of lust which arches the boy's appreciative eyebrow and the toothy grin with which Crowley repays him.

He understands- their clothes alone speak volumes to the surrounding humans. Wealth, cleanliness, private homes, probably titles or strong bloodlines. These things mean something to the penniless actors they have come to see throughout history. Burbage is fairly new here, and to the angel's knowledge Crowley hasn't seen him perform yet. And besides, Aziraphale is well used to humans tripping over themselves for his fetchingly attractive friend. 

He empathizes, really.

But that doesn't mean that Crowley is going to get away with tempting someone right under his nose. 

Aziraphale grits his teeth and lays the groundwork for their mandatory plausible deniability. He is no fool, he knows the demon circles him for reasons that have little to do with the occasionally-sexual side of their little Arrangement. He knows those unblinking, slitted eyes are carefully trained on multiple planes, watching for anyone who might be watching _them_. He knows it as well as he knows this demon, which is to say _quite thoroughly_ by now. 

Which means that despite this open flirtation with the actor, he knows that Crowley will not be slipping in the back rooms of the Globe to let the actor service him; cloudy as the lust may be between the demon and Burbage, it is one-sided. No, he'll slither home, wherever his rooms are in town, and make some mischief along the way, and wait for the angel to eventually find him. 

Laying with humans had grown boring, if not depressing, for them both. The rarest of occurrences happened anymore, someone particularly passionate or impressive which made their fleeting life and incessant questioning of far-off, long-term jobs and depthless wealth and being curious about something suddenly appearing seem worth it. 

It's honestly better to put it off, to wait around for one another to ease that particular ache, and so they'd decided somewhere along the road through earthly history that they would. No one _gets it_ like they do each other. Certainly not others of their respective hosts. 

Crowley pretends to watch the show and talks, says some sly things William thinks are horribly witty and deep (which he will likely steal for upcoming works- it has happened more than once- and they have been _terribly_ romantic lines, the angel thinks) and slinks off after winning their customary coin toss. Aziraphale only watches him saunter away for a second, turning back to watch the show with only slightly-dampened spirits and floating on Crowley's promise to aid the play into stardom. 

He will follow when the show is done, and not a moment sooner. 

* * *

Crowley twirls the ends of his hair and casts a thought to the low fire in the grate, stirring it up. It's damp and cold today, _again_ (it seems to be a thematic climate, here) and venturing out to meet the angel had made his bones ache. 

In the beginning of the Arrangement, some 590 years ago or so, after a very poignant handshake and several pints of mead, the more sexual side of their deal had been signed and sealed with a kiss and a drunken tumble in the sheets in a rented room above a tavern. Trying to muffle the noise of two touch-starved man-shaped beings taking out thousands of years of repressed feelings had proven rather difficult, but a blanket of sound-dampening magic had come in useful, and still does on occasion. Crowley has long since lined the walls of his rooms with the stuff. 

And a few choice wardings. 

After the first time, laying together was thought of as an excuse to meet after a traded job, let off some pent up energy. They could eat, drink, spend money carelessly, rent rooms and talk about the jobs done, trade notes, and fill out forms to send back to their head offices. The reward came after, when the seals on their reports were stamped and the letters sent off, they were drunk and wildly affectionate and had to retire behind closed doors or risk causing a scene. It only got harder the more time pressed on, when the distance between men's bodies defined their legality to exist. 

Sometimes Crowley switched his gender just to avoid such issues, if the local populous were particularly intolerant. He'd almost been burnt at the stake once already, no need to attempt it again. 

More recently, the ongoing war with Scotland had allowed them to trade jobs more frequently, and with that came more time together. Nights spent with one another became both a precursor and a reward, until Aziraphale had received a nasty note and then an impromptu visit from Gabriel and Sandalphon about a recent botched job with a pending Saint.

Crowley had come 'round to talk after a job- as usual- and had walked directly into the archangel's range. Gabriel had caught him with one gigantic hand around his throat before he could blink. He very nearly discorporated Crowley with a vicious pulse of lightening, leaving his singed, barely-beating body on the ground with a scoff while he agressively spoke down to Aziraphale and then disappeared several minutes later. Aziraphale's predictable reaction (after healing Crowley of course- that's another tale) was to withdraw completely, buttoning up his affections and keeping his distance once again, resorting to only speaking through letters sent through a magicked pocket they shared in spacetime. 

It had taken decades of concerted, _meticulous_ effort on Crowley's part to get the angel to relax around him again, to accept his little gifts and teasing words, and eventually to join him in bed once more. 

Crowley hoped that the display today, the open flirtation Burbage had thrown at him was enough to rile the angel up, send him sniffing out Crowley's rooms in a full-blown, jealous strop. What he wouldn't give for the taste of that soft, unmarred skin in his teeth, a hand running over his flank, tenderly, and then with more demand in it. He fondly (and what an understatement) remembered when Aziraphale would grip and squeeze and heft Crowley's narrow frame wherever he wanted it, pounding into him and then soothing any soreness away with his tongue, his gentle fingers kneading sweet oils into the demon's taxed muscles afterward. 

Crowley adds another log to the fire and waits, listening through the town for the only footsteps he cared to single out. 

An hour passes, woefully angel-less, before a knock sounds at the door and even before he opens it, Crowley can feel the thrum of power on the other side of the wood.

Like many human male bachelors in the city, Crowley's rooms are rented from a large house, his portion being an outer wing which leaves him in relative seclusion from the others. The apartment is situated above the kitchens, so it's warm most of the time. He has long-since soundproofed the place. His door is up a set of outdoor stairs but is enclosed in a small covered landing for the sake of privacy and protection from the driving rain that suits the area most days. 

Aziraphale stands on the landing, hands held in front of his belly and fiddling with the buttons there. He presses past Crowley in his haste to get inside when the door opens and their eyes meet. 

"Afraid of being caught, or--" Crowley's jaw clacks shut upon receiving a withering glare. 

Aziraphale is not quite as demonstrative as his demonic counterpart. There is no shoving against walls or storming into rooms and making a scene. He bends Crowley to his desire through sheer suggestion, the greatest temptation imaginable, and waits for the demon to succumb. He always will, and they both know it. 

Instead, the angel glances about Crowley's spare rooms and stares at the bed, just close enough to the fireplace for warmth. Crowley already smells of wood ash and damp earth at the joints, at the hairline of his nape, so it is no trouble to sleep clouded in the stuff. 

He moves to the sideboard where a horizon of wine bottles are kept and eyes them. Among the valleys between is a vial of rose and almond oil. He plucks it up and turns to Crowley, eyes glittering. 

Crowley licks his lips in anticipation, hackles rising and tongue already splitting down he middle. The air tastes electric. 

"Was your little flirtation today intended to rile me up?" 

"He started it!" Crowley retorts through his teeth. Aziraphale steps forward two slow paces, measured, his face carefully aloof. 

"Hmm. And yet you knew the outcome. You came straight home to wait for me to come give you a reminder that we _belong_ to one another in that way." By now he has advanced enough that Crowley has flattened himself against the wall by the bed without being touched. The adrenaline is potent, the smoke-smell of him wafting closer as Aziraphale takes the final step to press close, their bellies meeting through layers of fine fabric. "Why are you still dressed? I half expected to walk to see you nude, you were so blatant while walking off earlier. These ridiculous, delicious hips." Aziraphale sets the vial of oil on the small table by the bed and grips Crowley's narrow hips in each hand, pressing bruises into the skin like fingerprints, just the way he knows Crowley loves. 

The demon whines, chin tipping up as his body undulates in the slim space Aziraphale has left him between the wall and his unmoving body. In response, Aziraphale reaches up with one hand, pulls on that stupid beard until Crowley faces him again, and seals a kiss over his mouth. He lets the angel press him into the wall, harder kisses layered over and over until their mouths are slick with it, lips swelling and darkening from the scrape of teeth. 

When Aziraphale pulls away, his fingers trail down Crowley’s front, opening the fastenings of his doublet, tugging at the ties of his hose and reaching inside. It is hot and damp and he knows before his fingertips make contact that there will be a dripping cunt there, flushed with arousal for him. 

"Oh, you _dear_ thing. You are too good to me," he murmurs against Crowley's slack mouth, teasing fingers through the slick folds before retreating to finish stripping him bare. Croely makes pathetic noises and moves to cooperate, pushing fabric away from himself and reaching for Aziraphale's.The black stockings are tied to his hose, requiring both hands and a fair bit of effort to remove, but soon Crowley is heaving deep breaths and looking glassy-eyed at the angel, fingers creeping to untie his ruff, to move thick fabric out of his way in his search for more skin, warmth. He finds both a moment later, pushing the angel's doublet out of the way, sucking in his own belly to create a centimeter of space to push the garment to the floor and then pressing them back together again. The stark difference in his limbs, the chill of the damp London air of the room versus the heat of where their flesh meets, the hotblooded arousal between his legs is distracting. 

"Angel," he pants, teasing inside Aziraphale's mouth with the twin tips of his tongue, sliding along the wet heat there as Aziraphale's fingers find another sort of wet heat and probes gently there. 

"Darling, tell me. Let me know what you'd like. Because once I begin to take what I want I will not stop until you are boneless and oversated." By the end Aziraphale's growling into Crowley's open mouth, his fingers tracing the tender folds below and teasing over his clit with shocking precision. 

"Ple- fuck. Please, your mouth, angel. For a moment. Then whatever you like." Crowley is panting again, hips bucking against teasing fingers. He wants the tongue currently stroking his own to dip below, tease him open and make him come before Aziraphale pounds into him. To take his clenching quim with his fat cock while it's still pulsing with aftershocks. He says as much in broken sentences and Aziraphale still against him, intensely aroused by the image it implies. 

"Mmm. Turn around, beautiful. Arms up," he guides Crowley to face the wall, pressing his forearms up to bracket where his forehead leans into the wood. 

" _Christ_ ," Crowley breathes, letting Aziraphale catch his hips and pull them back, spread his ankles wider. He tips his arse up, both holes already twitching in anticipation. He feels the heat of the angel press close, slide down until he's kneeling behind him, hands skating up the backs of his legs. 

"You've always been so _pretty_ ," Aziraphale sighs, gripping a spare arse cheek-the only plush thing on the demon's body- in each hand and _squeezing_. He watches, rapt, as Crowley's arsehole stretches with the movement, the pink, damp folds below gape a little, just enough to peek briefly inside. His mouth waters as Crowley whines, nails scraping on the rough wood of his walls.

"Fucking _get on with it_ already!" Crowley bites out, losing patience.

Luckily for them both, Aziraphale is drowning in the virtuous stuff. Made of patience, he is. The angel leans forward and presses a kiss to his pink furled hole, tongue darting downward before he pulls away, lapping at the dipping juices there. He nudges a bit lower and catches on the demon's swollen clit, lapping at it before sliding back up the wet crevice of him. 

" _Oh-ffffff_ " Crowley fizzles out, knees shaking. Aziraphale works at him furiously then, scraping teeth over the throbbing flesh at intervals Crowley cannot predict, interspersed with firm laps and swirling teases. He sucks at the smooth skin between holes, dips a pointed tongue briefly into his arse, and brings a hand up in front, thumb fitted to the apex of his sex, rubbing circular motions that have Crowley crying out. 

"Fuck- please! 'Zira _aaaaaghhhh_ ," he chokes, hips bucking. Aziraphale has one hand still clasped over a hip, keeping Crowley as still as the demon can stand. "Close, turn me over. I want--" 

"What do you want?" Aziraphale asks, clear as day. He bites into the meat of one arse cheek, hard enough to make the demon yelp. He will have a bruise there later, a souvenir of delicate, even teeth-prints.

"Like this," Crowley says, turns around and hangs a slender calf over the angel's shoulder, reaching down to guide a hand up, press two fingers inside. Aziraphale watches him, river-stone eyes fastened to yellow, and leans in without breaking contact. The intensity of his stare, the possessiveness in the way he closes his mouth over Crowley's clit is too much to bear. Two firm licks is all it takes to have his pussy clenching down hard on those thick angelic digits.

Aziraphale moans against him as fluid seeps out, down his chin and over his hand. The vibration nearly sends the demon into another crest but instead, Aziraphale seems to have gotten the memo from earlier. He gives the demon's clit one last, firm suck with a swipe of tongue that has his thighs snapping together from oversensitivity and stands, gathering Crowley to him in one fluid motion. He pivots and deposits the demon on the narrow goose-down bed and cralws on top of him, spreading those shaking thighs wide. 

"My dear. I believe you wanted me to- ah, what was the phrase? Stick you with my fat cock while you were still tight and shaking from my mouth?" 

Crowley growls through his clenched teeth, face red and nails scraping down Aziraphale's torso. He catches a nipple meanly and replies, "You're losing sunlight on that one, angel." 

"Well then. Perhaps I should try again. If it's overexertion you're after, it's a good job you gave me this pretty little cunt to play with." Without further ado he slips his two middle fingers back inside the drenched quim of his demonic best friend and presses the heel of his hand against Crowley's throbbing clit and starts jostling him with abrupt, vigorous motions. The fingers press in and down, pull up and out, over and over as the heel of his thumb rubs cruelly over his clit until Crowley throws his head back and _screams_ as another orgasm rips through him. 

While he's still clenching, still shaking from it this second orgasm, Aziraphale settles between Crowley's thighs and plunges his cock inside, molars squeezing together at the sound that comes from his friend's throat as his cunt is stretched open significantly more on his cock than it had been by his fingers.

Crowley's heat grips him snugly, tighter than his own fist would be. He moans, chin tipped to the ceiling as Aziraphale buries all the way inside and pauses to feel those internal muscles rippling around his girth. He pets up and down that lean chest, through the smattering of hair that covers his firm pectorals and drifts down in a narrowing journey between his thighs.

They both take a moment to breathe. Crowley mewls, legs spread and calves hitched around Aziraphale's rump. He flexes his hips, pushing Aziraphale halfway out and then relaxes, letting him sink back in with a filthy groan of appreciation. 

"Always filled me up so nicely, angel, _fuck._ " 

"Well. Not always. I remember a few times you threw me down and had your way with me over the years." Aziraphale exhales heavily and begins to move, struck by how long it's been since he felt this overcome with affection and possessiveness in the same moment. "You are, however, _mine_ ," he growls with finality, burying himself as deep as he can and reaching up to grip Crowley's throat with a pressure that cannot be ignored. 

Crowley's eyes roll in his skull, jaw dropping as his muscles go lax. "Yes, angel, take it. All yours," he wheezes, delighted. Aziraphale doesn't need to be told twice. Doesn't need to be told at all, really, but he's polite like that. 

The angel grips crowley's sharp hip bones and pulls out halfway, driving back in with a snap of hips powerful enough to jostle the demon up the bed a few inches. He does it again, and once more until Crowley is crying out from the harrowing ache of it. 

"Pl-please, Aziraphale, _fuck_. Turn-- let me turn over, give it to me, _harder_ ," he babbles, hands going everywhere at once. Aziraphale grabs one and hisses through his teeth.

"I'll do what I like, when I like to. You're mine. You'll take what you're owed for messing me about with a _human_ , today." 

"Oh, _ffffff_ , _yyy-es_ , okay," Crowley tries to bring him down for a kiss and Aziraphale goes, also desperate, thrusts gentling so they can lick into each other more easily. He sits back and grabs one of Crowley's ankles, pulling it up and over a shoulder and rolls the demon slightly onto his side. It lets his cock sink that last inch deeper inside, the fattest point rubbing deliciously at Crowley' entrance and that magical spot just beyond it. He reaches down, fingers swirling over his clit and makes a strangled sound.

"Please, angel-- _Aziraphale_!" 

Aziraphale reached up, gripped a handful of red hair and used it to pin Crowley's head to one side, forcing him to look up at the angel as he buried his cock as deep as he could go and held it there. Crowley's eyes bugged, his entire cunt throbbing with fullness and pressure, set off by the sparking pain in his scalp. His nails scrabbled at Aziraphale's chest, a whine bubbling up his throat. 

"Sssshit. Angel, oh, please, _please move_ , it's _perfect_ ," 

"Wait." Crowley groaned loudly, palms slapping ineffectually at the angel's chest above him, his hips holding them in stasis. Aziraphale tightened his hand in Crowley's hair and spoke, "is this what you want when you flirt with them? Even when I'm not around to fuck you?" 

Crowley swallowed, caught out. "Nghhh," he said. 

Aziraphale's saccharine smile, at once doting and terrifying, turned into a frown. "No one else could ever give you this like I do. Say it, please," and Crowley did. 

"Yes Aziraphale, _only you_. It's always been like that, you know it!" Crowley wailed, hips wriggling to get some friction but Aziraphale held him still. The angel rolled his hips gently, just a deep rub, but it was delicious. Crowley groaned in appreciation and clenched around the thickness buried inside his spent cunt. 

Slowly, and with more stamina than you'd expect by looking at him, Aziraphale set a punishing pace that had Crowley tipping over twice more by the time the angel came explosively. The pulses of heat inside had Crowley mewling with both pleasure and mild disgust. Aziraphale was mouthing at his throat, hips rolling gently until he came to a shuddering stop atop the demon. 

"Hmm," he sighed, rolling away and onto his back. 

Crowley waved a hand, cleaning them, and rolled toward the angel, curling against his warm side. 

"Hmm. Sorry you lost the coin toss, angel."

"Yes, I'm sure it was an honest throw," Aziraphale says wryly. "In any case, we got this out of the way early. I'll nip out soon to pack my bag and rent a horse." 

"I know it defeats the purpose, but I'd come with you if I could. Little bed-warming for the road ahead, and all." 

"My dear. If this goes off we'll be seeing one another soon, anyway. Stealing livestock is probably going to start another war, with how the clansmen can be." 

Crowley snorts, burrows his nose into Aziraphale's shoulder. "Probably." He nestles in closer, drips a long leg over the angel's chunky thigh. "Y'should stay the night. I've got the wards up. And you'll be going early, anyway. I'll get you a horse, easy enough." 

"Better not," Aziraphale sighs heavily, slumping into the bed further. He wraps an arm around the demon's shoulders and holds him close. 

"But I might, if you need another seeing- to." 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: "hose" are not the thin tight "legging" style socks men wore then, they are the pillowy shorts that come down to cover those. What Americans would call the hose are actually called stockings.  
> So the hose are the shorts, and the stockings are the long thin socks 🤔  
> I promise I'm not historically dumb, it's just that Americans have the stupidest names for things sometimes so we get easily turned around when researching clothing descriptions for the 1600s 😒


End file.
